Judith Merril - The Year's Greatest Science Fiction & Fantasy 6

Mr. Clarke nodded and sat quietly staring at the floor. He said, “Then any scheme having in it some feature not yet in existence will not be patentable, and by the time it does become patentable, it may be too late. This is true even though one knows for certain that the nonexistent feature will be developed.” He looked up questioningly.

Mr. Spardleton and I nodded, and he continued, “People will be able to patent the hardware and the fuels and things like that, but they cannot patent any of the early, necessary plans and system relating to space.”

We nodded again.

Mr. Clarke stood up and said, “It appears that the patent system is not geared to the space age. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must send a telegram. There’s an article I wrote that... well, there’s no sense in letting it be published now. I’ll wait a few years.

The confusions, complexities, and internal contradictions of man’s fumbling first steps off Earth are by no means confined to legal or political aspects. (Perhaps there are some readers, in other countries, who have not yet heard the one about the little boy in first grade at the Canaveral school who was asked to count backwards. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one ... Back to the drawing board, men!”)

While the rocket men struggle toward mechanical perfection, a whole new field of applied biology called “Space Medicine” is working feverishly to reduce the margin of human error to a reasonable risk by tho time the man-carrying ships are ready to launch. I rather wonder, though, how much thought they’ve given at White Sands to the sort of human failure Mr. Brunner suggests?

John Brunner is one of the growing group of young British writers who have developed primarily in association with the consistently surprising Nova magazines—New Worlds and Science Fantasy—edited by Ted Cornell. (Both magazines, I am happy to say, are now being distributed in this country.) This selection is not from either of the British publications, but from Astounding (now Analog)--representing the increasing trend toward the exchange of material on both sides of the Pond.

From: Officer commanding Moonbase One.

To: Officer commanding Project Diana.

Subject: Experimental verification of composition of Moon’s surface:

As a result of our successful attempt to establish a manned post on the surface of the Moon, we are now in a position to give a definite answer to a problem which has long occupied the minds of astronomers: viz., the composition of the surface of our satellite.

Prior to our recent landing there were three hypotheses current. The two generally accepted among experts were, first, that the surface of the Moon consisted of a substance not unlike the ash and lava poured out by terrestrial volcanoes; or, second, that much of the Moon was covered in fine dust, the result of a continual bombardment by meteoric particles, and consequently similar in its chemical composition to the dust existing in interplanetary space.

It is, however, the third hypothesis—even more widely held than the preceding two—which has been strikingly confirmed by our on-the-spot investigations.

Before going into precise details, it is necessary to refer briefly to two other points. To start with, according to current theories about the formation of the solar system, the Earth and the Moon were not—as formerly held—originally balls of hot gas. They are presumed to have condensed out of a rotating cloud of comparatively cold gases and dust particles. It is suspected that the complex organic molecules which later gave rise to life, as we know it, may already have been in existence when the planets formed.

Scientists gave it as their considered opinion that, although they were unable to detect any living creatures on our satellite, nonetheless the raw material, so to speak, from which life developed on Earth,. might exist here. It will be recalled that every possible care was taken to sterilize all rockets launched toward the Moon, for fear that the presence of terrestrial bacteria might contaminate and perhaps catalyze the stockpile of pre-organic molecules, depriving us of valuable clues to the origin of life.

Second, it will be recalled that, during the reconnaissance which preceded our successful landing, one of the TV scanner missiles searching for a suitable landing place went off course and crashed not far from the site which was eventually chosen for our base. Since our arrival we have carefully inspected the wreckage. The difficulties under which we are now compelled to work have delayed the preparation of a full report on this inspection; that will follow.

The crucial point which emerged, however, was that the TV scanner missile went off course owing to foreign matter in its guidance system. It is requested that inquiries be instituted among the technicians at the launching base with a view to establishing responsibility for this—it should not in my submission be hard to discover which of the staff is so inordinately fond of his stomach that he takes sandwiches on the job, puts them down while at work and forgets about them. Because that was the nature of the foreign matter we found: a large sandwich with one bite taken out of it. The impact, naturally, had broken the rocket wide open, and the sandwich was in fact found a short distance away where it had been thrown by the violence of the crash. It is now, I am afraid, purely a matter for speculation whether the content of the sandwich had a uniquely determinant effect; speaking for myself, I’m pretty sure it did.

The scientists responsible for predicting that terrestrial bacteria might contaminate pre-organic molecules on the Moon deserve congratulation for the accuracy of their guesswork. The man who left this sandwich in the scanner missile deserves to be hanged, drawn and quartered—but that’s up to you at base. An alternative suggestion is to bury him up to his neck in a barrel full of the nice ripe Limburger he likes in his sandwiches, till he won’t be able to look the stuff in the face again. Then he’ll know how we feel sitting up here, having to breathe the stink with every lungful of canned air.

In fact, you’ll probably notice the aroma on this memo.

I am in a position to state with authority that thanks to his damned sandwich the Moon is made of green cheese.

Best way to eliminate the human error factor is to dispense with the human? This excerpt—the first five chapters —from a book described on the jacket as “a novel about The Way Things Are, as discovered in the adventures of an innocent Hero . . .” tries (like NASA) using an ape instead.

It is hardly necessary to state that Roger Price is a funny man. (This is “Droodles” Price, “Mad Libs” Price and TV-comic Price we are talking about.) It is well worth staling, however, that his novel is not only funny, but very good satire indeed.